Boot Camp
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Jenny and Gibbs have their first "big" married fight. ACD 'verse.


_a/n: apologize in advance for all the military puns ;)_

* * *

><p><span><em>December 14th, 2013<em>  
><span><em>Camp Pendleton, California<em>

* * *

><p>Leroy Jethro Gibbs considered himself a good husband. He only had a few months experience compared to some, but he based his considerations upon the fact that he very rarely instigated, whether purposely or accidentally, fights. Neither did he make it a habit of disregarding the feelings of his wife.<p>

Except when he _did_ happen to do either one – or both – of those things, it usually backfired on him so fast he didn't actually know what had happened.

He chalked their arguments up to her being in a testy mood, but something was different was this one – particularly since it just started with him asking –

"What's for dinner?"

He shut the door behind him and kicked off his uniform boots, nudging them against the wall with a thud. He groaned, tired and sore from the day's workouts, and trudged over to the couch where Jenny was sitting – well, she was lying down, and watching television.

He sat down and rubbed his palm over her ankles, leaning forward and pressing his forehead into her hip, vying for attention. He lifted his head and put his chin on her hipbone, and she was glaring at him, a sharp glint in her eye.

He blinked, taken aback.

"Since when do you expect me to have your supper on the table when you get home?" she asked.

He guarded his face and paused, alerted to her dissatisfaction by her tone.

"Uh," he uttered. "I don't," he told her warily – and that was a fact; he genuinely didn't expect it of her.

"You just _walked_ in the door and asked _what's for dinner_," she retorted, drawing her legs away and sitting up. She pushed her hair back, giving him a look. "I didn't tell you I was cooking dinner this morning."

"Half the time you don't tell me!" he protested. "It's just ready when I get home – "

"So you do expect it."

He gave her baffled look.

"No, 'M statin' a fact!"

She grit her teeth and looked away, squinting at the television screen.

"You've been working late all week," she muttered. "It would have been cold, anyway."

"Jen, I told you we've been runnin' new drills – "

"I know; I don't care that you work late," she interrupted tersely. "It's just irritating that you stomp in here demanding dinner – "

"I didn't _demand_ dinner," he said, frustrated – he gave her a look. "I was just jokin' around," he told her. "Pretendin' to be one of those guys – "

"You sounded serious."

"Well, I'm hungry," he said, quirking half a smile and trying to lighten her mood.

"Well," she said delicately. "I am _so_ sorry I didn't cook for you."

"C'mon, hon, what the hell's this about – "

"You could have said _hello_ to me first, Jethro."

He opened his mouth to retort, and then decided it was better to shut it.

"Yeah," he agreed suspiciously, waiting.

"You just _had_ to open the door and ask what's for dinner?"

"I'm hungry!" he retorted again.

She sat back and shrugged, pushing her hair back.

"I didn't cook," was all she said.

Gibbs sat back away from her a little, staring. She'd been in a perfectly fine mood when he left – she'd been on her way out the door to work herself. He hadn't talked to her all day, either, so he hadn't done anything in the span of about twelve hours to merit this.

He frowned, and then he looked over at her.

"Jen, I didn't forget," he said pointedly.

She arched a brow.

"Forget what?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"That it's the five month."

"The five month of what?" she asked, a little exasperated. "What are you talking about?"

"December fourteenth?" he prompted. "Five months since we got married?"

She blinked at him, and then she laughed a little, the annoyed, tight muscles in her temple relaxing.

"Jethro, since when would something stupid like that bother me?" she leaned back against the couch heavily. "You know me better than that."

"I don't know what's the matter with you," he retorted a little tensely.

She sighed and stared at the ceiling, and shrugged again. She turned her head, blinking heavily.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "I left the office early again today, and it felt for a second like you were starting to get used to the dinner thing – "

"Jesus, I like your cookin' Jen, but I don't expect you to wait on me, I don't care if you do," he said bluntly.

He ran his hands over his knees.

"Why'd you leave early?"

"Nothing for me to do," she muttered.

"Ah," he grunted.

He reached up and rubbed his jaw.

"You want to go out to dinner?" he asked sincerely. "One of them fancy seafood places in Oceanside?"

She licked her lips.

"Or I can cook," he offered.

She wrinkled her nose apologetically.

"No groceries."

"Then go get dressed," he said – then he thought better of that, "or go like you are, you look fine," he added hastily.

She laughed a little.

"Great, now my shitty attitude has you scared of me."

"Nah, 'm not scared," he said, feigning some manly pride. He grinned at her.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked half-heartedly. "You hate those places."

"'M not too tired to take you out, Jen," he said seriously. He leaned closer, giving her a pained look, "and I'm starving."

She pushed him away with a good-natured roll of her eyes. She pushed her hair back, sat on the edge of the couch for a minute, and got up. He watched her grab the remote and flick the television off, and she paused and turned back, arching a brow at him.

"Five months, huh?" she teased. "Did you buy roses or something – what were you planning for this menial anniversary."

He smirked at her.

"I was just thinkin' we'd have sex," he said honestly.

She turned up her nose playfully.

"You're telling me, that five months in, you now expect sex – "

She broke off, because he'd gotten up and stormed over to cover her mouth, bending to kiss her lightly on the nose and give her a mock annoyed look.

"Just get in the damn shower before I eat you for dinner," he growled.

"Mmm, sounds promising," she murmured.

She winked at him, and slipped out of his arms obediently, set on getting ready. He reached up and ran his hand over the back of his neck, watching her go appreciatively – but still, he felt a little apprehensive; he felt like there was something off about her.

* * *

><p>She chose a dress he hadn't seen before and older, well-loved heels, and he chose a place someone on base had recommended to him. It was a Saturday evening – prime time for chic dining – and yet their wait was astonishingly bearable.<p>

They were seated outside on a pier-like patio, and the balmy, warm weather reminded Jenny of one of the inarguable benefits of Gibbs' Camp Pendleton assignment: the weather. She hated the cold, and as odd as it was adjusting to a winter season with no real resemblance to the D.C. winters she knew, she was happy to adjust.

"Where's the steak?" Gibbs grunted from behind a menu.

"This is a seafood restaurant."

"You tellin' me they don't have _steak_?"

"You might have to look a little harder for it," she snorted, arching a brow. She peered at him, and then took pity. "On the third page, there's a surf-and-turn option."

"You think I can substitute the shrimp for another steak?"

Jenny laughed.

"You really need to watch _Parks & Rec_ with me," she mused. "Wait – on second thought, you might run off with Ron Swanson; nix that. I still like having you around."

"Coulda fooled me earlier," he retorted, glaring at her over the menu and pretending to be injured.

She pursed her lips and shrugged a little – she was trying not to feel like she had been feeling earlier, and she didn't want him bringing it up. She folded her menu and leaned forward to take her glass of water.

"I guess watching _Parks & Rec_ would take away from your _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_ obsession."

"I told you _twice_, it was on _The Simpsons_ when I fell asleep."

"They're on different channels."

"Must've rolled over on the remote."

"Mmm-hmmm," she murmured smugly.

He glared at her, and shut his own menu.

"Want some wine?" he asked.

Her lips twitched downwards a little.

"Nah," she said half-heartedly. "I don't feel like drinking."

He arched a brow, but shrugged. He waved the waiter over and they ordered, and he got more comfortable in his seat. He settled his eyes on his wife and stared at her intently.

"That's a hell of a dress, Jen," he complimented.

"Funny story," she drawled, "I went out to buy a new blender, and bought this instead." She gestured to herself primly, modeling from her seat, and he grinned.

"Didn't even notice the blender was broken."

She tilted her head.

"It's not. I just didn't have anything else to do."

There was an edge to her voice, but before he could think of something to say, she leaned forward.

"I called Dad about Christmas yesterday," she revealed.

Gibbs winced, looking at her warily.

"He pissed?"

Jenny tilted her head back and forth.

"_Pissed_ isn't the right word," she mumbled. "He gets it, I think, he's just … disappointed."

She chewed on her lip.

"He's actually _never_ had Christmas without me," she mused. "He always ended up home, even when he was deployed a lot."

"You tell 'im we're not seein' my dad, either?" Gibbs asked.

She glared at him through her lashes.

"Yes," she said. "The point was to stay here and spend Christmas alone, together."

"Yeah, it was your idea," Gibbs said cautiously.

"I know that, Jethro."

He paused.

"You're soundin' like you regret it," he said flatly. He leaned forward and put his arm on the table. "I said I didn't mind either way."

He wanted to remind her of that; because he was wary of her suddenly acting like he'd forced her to exclude her father, and that hadn't been the case. He wanted to spend their first Christmas alone together, and to his relief; she'd voiced that desire before they made plans. He didn't know why she seemed upset with that now.

Jenny swallowed.

"No, I don't – you know, he just made me feel…bad," she muttered. She furrowed her brow. "It annoyed me, you know. I mean, I get that he misses me, but he just," she sighed, irritated. "I felt guilty," she paused again, "and it's weird, not being home."

"I'm not goin' home, either," Gibbs pointed out.

"You avoided home like hell half the time," Jenny retorted. "You're not coming from the same place as I am."

Gibbs held up his hands. That retort indicated Jenny just felt like snipping – and he should have known that was going to be the case since the minute he walked in the door after work.

She looked at his hands and put her elbow on the table, taking a drink of water.

"You sure you don't want a glass of wine?" he asked, a little sarcastically. "Or a shot," he muttered.

"Jethro, I'm allowed to feel a little off about a big change," she said. "My life is more different this year than it's _ever_ been before."

"Yeah, well, I don't like him makin' you feel guilty," Gibbs said in a low voice. "And takin' it out on me isn't fair – it's not my fault."

She parted her lips, and then her eyes widened a little and she stopped, and swallowed. He tightened his jaw, giving her a stony look – something told him she'd just been about to accuse him of uprooting her life – when she knew she'd made the choice to marry him fully informed of what Marine marriages were subject to.

She blew hair out of her face. She took another drink of water. She wanted to talk to him, but she didn't want him to feel like she was blaming him, and she hadn't decided how to express how she was feeling lately. She'd agreed to go out to dinner, and she should have just stayed home.

"Are the new drills still aggravating your knee?" she asked.

He gave her a look, and smiled a little.

"Am I finally rubbin' off on you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You changed the subject!"

Jenny grit her teeth.

"I'm not mad at you, Jethro, and I still want to stay here!"

He leaned forward again and narrowed his eyes, studying her pointedly.

"Jen," he said quietly. "What's your problem?"

She didn't like the tone of that question – something about 'what's your problem' instead of 'what's bothering you' or 'what's wrong' didn't sit right. She chose to ignore him.

"I told you," she said tightly, trying to be neutral. "Dad frustrated me."

Gibbs started to call her out, but he was cut off.

"Gunny, can't I get a break from your ugly mug even after work?"

He turned when he heard the sardonic, booming voice; it was his Pendleton commanding officer, strolling up with a cigar hanging out of his mouth and a frothy mug of beer in hand.

"Thought that was you," he said, clearing his throat as he came to stand by their table. "No smokin' inside," he said, rolling his eyes. "Liberals."

Gibbs grinned a little and leaned back.

"Where you been, Captain?" he asked. "No smokin' in doors anywhere for years."

"Guess I been servin' this country in places where indoor smokin's the least of everyone's worries," growled the old man. "The wife wants me to quit," he said, smirking at Gibbs. "Speaking of, does this stunning bird belong to you, Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded, holding his hand out to Jenny.

"Can't claim to own her, but she did do me the favor of marryin' me," he drawled, making a point to avoid use of the word _belong_, as if Jenny was a possession. "My wife, Jenny," he introduced. He pointed from her to his commanding officer. "Captain Granger."

Jenny reached out to shook his hand, and he did the same – after gallantly kissing her knuckles like an old southern dandy. She smiled good-naturedly. She knew Gibbs respected Granger, a hell of a lot more than he'd liked his old CO, and she was glad to meet him. He'd only been in his position at Pendleton about three months, so only a little longer than Jenny had been at the base herself.

"You are one hell of a fine lookin' woman, Ma'am," Captain Granger said, whistling. He shot Gibbs a wry look. "I thought you were bullshitting me," he laughed.

Gibbs shrugged smugly and shook his head. Jenny shot him a questioning glance – had he been bragging about her looks?

The Captain took a drag off his cigar, and gestured it at Gibbs.

"He claimed he won't bring you buy the officer's club 'cause he ain't aimin' to make the other guys jealous," he told her conversationally. "Me, I thought it was a tactic to hide how ugly you are or somethin' – but damned if I ain't jealous myself."

Jenny arched her brows, amused.

"Jethro never told me you were so charming," she remarked.

"Charming enough to steal you away?"

"Now, Captain, didn't I hear you mention a wife of your own?" Jenny asked, feigning severity.

He laughed.

"You sure as hell did," he snorted, "and Molly'd roll her eyes somethin' fierce if she heard me out here flirtin'. She's a looker herself, you know," he said proudly. "I'm happy where I am."

He cleared his throat, tapping out his cigar on his leg.

"I'll let you enjoy your supper," he said cordially. He pointed at Jenny. "I'll stop keepin' your husband so late in a week or so, once we get these green boys in shape," he promised.

"Mind if I have him on Saturdays from now on?" Jenny asked, pursing her lips.

"I'll see what I can do," Captain Granger laughed, nodding – Saturday duty was rare, but Gibbs had been at work often on Saturdays for the past few weeks.

He made his way back inside, and Jenny tilted her head, still a little amused by how complimentary he'd been.

"You don't sit around mouthing off about my looks," she said doubtfully, arching a brow.

Gibbs gave her a defiant look.

"Yeah, I do," he retorted. "Marines brag about what they got. I got you."

"Jethro," she laughed. "I'm not _that_ pretty."

"Don't act like you never seen a mirror, Jen," he retorted simply.

She licked her lips and smiled at them, leaning back and lifting her chin. It wasn't long after that their food arrived, and he was relieved to eat – he was also relieved the encounter with the commanding officer had alleviated the tension, but he hadn't exactly forgotten how moody she seemed to be.

* * *

><p>He came out of the shower close to eleven to find her lying in bed with a book held over her head.<p>

"No _Saturday Night Live_?" he grunted.

She usually obsessively watched the sketch show, and liked him to watch with her, even if half the time he just griped about the lack of good musical guest and fell asleep.

She shrugged.

"It's just John Goodman," she muttered. "I don't like Kings of Leon, and I'm not in the mood."

He chose not to touch that one, but he could have guessed she wasn't in the mood – she hadn't been as testy for the rest of dinner, or the evening, but he still knew something was up. He toweled off his hair lazily and threw himself onto the bed with her, inching closer. She closed her book – a good sign – and set it aside behind her, rolling towards him comfortably.

"What was Granger talking about, the officer's club?" she murmured, yawning.

He furrowed his brow, confused a moment.

"Oh," he grunted. "Guys are always buggin' me to go out, when the officer's give us the invite," he mumbled. He shrugged. "I never go."

"You've gone before," she noted.

"Couple times," he said, reaching out and putting his arm around her. He moved closer. "Not my thing."

She knew that; she knew Gibbs wasn't a hard partier or anything. He never had been, even if was fairly normal in social situations. He'd only gone out with the new group of Marines –mostly new, though he was sill with some of the old crew, like Pride and Hanna – to get more familiar with the new cohesion of a group. Still she – it bothered her that she was included in these invites, and she'd never heard about it.

"Do your other Marines' wives go?"

"Nah, not on the nights I been, that's just men," he said, pressing his lips to her throat. "Other times, maybe."

"But we've never been out those times."

He paused, his lips on her neck – _we_. He shook his head cautiously.

"You didn't think I might be interested?"

He pulled back, sighing. He rubbed his jaw.

"No," he said curtly.

"No?" she retorted. "I'm not anti-social, Jethro." She rose up on her elbow, giving him a frustrated look. "I haven't even met half the new guys you work with."

"Jen, I hate the officer's club –"

"But you go when it's just guys."

"No, when it's just us guys we're out at a bar or somethin', the officers invite the wives."

"You've _never_ mentioned that, Jethro – I don't get it, do you think I wouldn't get along with these people? Do you not want me there?"

"Goddamnit, Jen."

"Goddamnit _what_?"

He gave her a nasty look.

"You don't really think I don't want you around," he barked in disbelief. "I turn 'em down 'cause I'd rather be here, alone, with you!"

She gave him a look, and he snorted, annoyed.

"I'm not gettin' laid, am I?"

"My number one concern right now isn't your dick," she retorted sharply.

"Well, what the hell is it?" he snapped.

He propped himself on one arm to match her stance, and set his jaw. She ignored his question.

"Jethro, I don't _know_ anyone here! Have you noticed that? I still don't know the area that well…I'm not very busy; I'm used to being occupied and," she broke off, looking a little bewildered, like she didn't know what she was saying. "It just would have been nice to get to know the other wives – even the _guys_!"

"You're gonna hassle me about this?"

"I'm not _hassling_ you – don't sound so tortured – "

"You been hasslin' me since I got home!" he said curtly. "Dinner, Christmas, goin' out – when did it start bein' that I can't do anything right?"

She grit her teeth.

"Don't be so overdramatic," she said tersely. "I'm just," she paused. She licked her lips. "It's," she paused again. "You are very at ease here, you're in your niche with your routine, and you're good at what you do, and I'm … it's been an adjustment, and I don't feel like you've noticed that."

He felt impossibly frustrated by her; he didn't know what she wanted, what she was saying – was she suddenly unhappy? Was he supposed to believe that after five years together, she'd chosen _after_ their wedding to be uncertain?

She sat up and drew her knees up closer. She stared down at them for a moment, and then reached up and pushed her hair up.

"I know I've been a bitch," she said tensely. "I've been trying to…not," she muttered. "I'm just frustrated, lately."

He tilted his head, giving her a playful look.

"Time of the month, eh?"

She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing.

"Are you completely stupid?" she hissed, annoyed.

He winced – yeah, he regretted the comment the moment he said it. He'd joked about it before, but in retrospect, now wasn't exactly the best time for a moody female joke.

She grit her teeth, and then she shook her head, turning to glare back at her knees.

"I _am_ trying to have a conversation with you, Jethro," she sighed, half-mad at herself, half-mad at him for no reason. "I'm just trying to do it right."

"Jen," he said, sobering up. He waited, and moved closer, reaching out to nudge her shin with his knuckles. "What's wrong?"

'What's wrong' – it really was just so much more sincere and caring than 'what's your problem' – and she took a deep breath.

"I don't feel at home yet," she confessed flatly. She licked her lips, and shrugged, almost hating herself for admitting it. "This house, the base, California…I feel out of place."

Gibbs blinked at her. He swallowed, and sat up, looking at her warily. He'd always just assumed that Jenny would be happy to go with him to his stations, so long as they weren't in combat zones where partners weren't allowed; she'd always moved with her father, and she'd never expressed a desire to put down roots yet.

She didn't say anything else, and he took a stab in the dark.

"You – what, you want to go home?" he asked uncomfortably.

He didn't know if he'd react well to his wife telling him she wanted to go back to – her father's, or her own place or something. Jenny wasn't too traditional, but she wasn't _that_ progressive.

"No," she said firmly, lifting her head. "No; my home is with you, and I want to be where you are." She didn't have any doubts about that at all. "But I have to have a life that's not just _you_, not just revolving around _you_, and I don't…have that, here."

He sighed.

"I'm not followin', Jen," he said bluntly.

"I know you don't get it," she snapped tensely. "I know, and I'm trying to explain it without sounding accusatory or unhappy, because I am not unhappy with you, okay?" she paused, and licked her lips. "It _has_ been a big change."

She almost felt like she was admitting it to herself – and to a certain extent, she was, because she'd always thought herself incredibly adaptable, so having a hard time here was bugging her.

Jenny looked over at him, and he looked back intently, waiting. He felt a little attacked, but he chose to wait until she explained herself more.

"It's just – the CIA office here is dead, there's no work for me – it's not that I _want_ terrorism or insurgency in California, but I do want a job that…has substance, keeps me on my toes and," she broke off, swallowing frustrating, keeping her voice quiet. "The time difference sucks; my schedule never meshes with my friends' – everyone in this neighborhood has kids, has their routines – I almost wish we'd just gotten an apartment off-base – "

"I'm gonna be here three years, Jen, apartment would have gotten old."

She nodded – she did prefer their nice little house to an apartment, but it didn't change her concerns.

She turned towards him, facing him, opening up.

"Think about it," she said quickly. "I've spent the last – continuously, basically – the last eighteen years in school. That's a predictable, set schedule – and you and me, well, since I was seventeen, this is the longest uninterrupted time we've spent together – lived together!" she pointed out, almost unable to believe it. "I was always at school, or you were deployed, or I was 17 and all the rules were different – and now it's no rules, it's just us, I mean really, across the country from everyone – and I feel like I sort of…I mean, maybe I should have gone to law school right away, found somewhere here," she shook her head, looking at him cautiously.

He blinked at her, and she lifted her eyes, sighing tiredly.

"You sayin' you don't like livin' alone with me, Jen?"

She laughed, exasperated, and shook her head.

"This isn't about you, Jethro, I swear to God it's not about you!"

She sounded dangerously annoyed with him then, and he shifted, drawing one leg up and throwing his arm over it tensely.

"You said just havin' me around is pissin' you off!"

"That's not what I said," she snapped. "You aren't listening – I've always been independent; I've always had friends, work, and a very full life – you know that. It's different here."

"You've got _work_!" he pointed out.

"I have a Master's! I'm _seriously_ overqualified for my job here! They _pay_ me the right grade, but come on, Jethro!" she burst out, her voice cracking. "I came off an incredibly intense, fast-paced internship with the CIA and transferred to a field office here – not in the same department, not in the same work, and I miss my friends," she took a deep breath.

He grit his teeth.

"I can't do anything about it, Jen, I go where they tell me – "

"I know, I know that, and that's exactly why I've been trying to deal with it – I don't want you to think that this is your fault or that I'm sitting around resenting you – it was just a lot at once and I miss the community I had and I," she swallowed, her face flushing, "I wish you'd invited me out to meet people, I wish I was involved with something," she broke off again, and shook her head. "This is exactly why I wanted to be together so long before we got married."

"Jen, we were together five years, if you think it wasn't long enough – "

"It _was_ long enough. That's the point; I know how to handle this. I know we can maturely deal with this, I just – "

"Mature?" he snapped. "You're whining and – "

"I am not _whining_!" she shouted. She turned and got off the bed, standing up. "I am trying to tell you what's going on – you can't relate, and I understand that, but try to be sympathetic – "

"I don't want to start a fight – "

"You already started one!" she barked. "This is a fight," she said bluntly, loudly. "Put your fucking boxing gloves on."

He reached up and rubbed his jaw hard.

"It isn't just your father bein' an ass, is it?" he asked harshly. "You don't want to be here."

"I am adjusting to our life," she retorted aggressively. "I _want_ to be with _you_. I also want to feel useful, and busy, and I would like female companionship – God, I sound so fucking stupid," she shouted at herself. She pushed her hair back. "You've been here longer – you had a month to get to know the area."

Her post-university paid internship with the CIA had ended at the last of September, and Gibbs had been required to report to Pendleton September first. Though she had visited every weekend, she hadn't actually moved until October – though they'd lived in an apartment together at Quantico for the months right after they'd gotten married.

"Dad just made me miss the familiarity of home –" she broke off, and then she sat back down on the bed. "He just…he stressed me out, and I'm already stressed," she mumbled, breaking off.

"What's stressing you?" Gibbs asked, a little bewildered. "You just said you're bored, now you're stressed?"

She put her hands over her face, ran them through her hair, and then bit her lip. Her hands shook a little as she lowered them to her lap and cleared her throat.

"I think," she began, and sucked in her breath, resting her palm on her ribs. "I might be pregnant."

His expression changed completely. He straightened up, his hand falling off his knee, and she felt awful when she saw the excitement on his face. He grinned at her, and she wanted to burst into tears – she knew something like that wouldn't upset him, and it just made her feel sick.

"That's not so bad, Jenny," he said gently. "That's," he faltered. "It's great!"

She shook her head, folding her arms tightly, her lips trembling.

"_No_," she said emphatically. "No, it's, it's not," she closed her eyes, and reached up to wipe at them.

He shifted and crawled forward, taking her hand from her face.

"Why're you so upset?" he asked quietly, his voice low – at least he didn't sound so frustrated with her anymore.

"Because we _just_ got married!" she burst out, her voice breaking. "That's just like you, Jethro, just jump right in, _go_ with the flow. We _just_ started – "

"You said it yourself, we've been together five years – "

"Yes, and I also just pointed out that this is the first time we've been together, living together, us, starting a life without – rules, or classes, or flights and long drives, and I wanted to enjoy that, I wanted to just be _us_!"

Tears spilled out of her eyes, smudged the make-up she still had on, and she pulled her hand from his, wiping her face again.

"You know, we told Dad we were going to spend our first Christmas as a married couple alone, and I wanted that, Jethro," she said shakily. "I haven't – _we_ haven't even talked about kids, haven't thought about it, and if I have a baby I'm afraid it will be even harder for me to get acquainted with your Marines, and their wives," she swallowed, trying to hold back more tears.

He nodded, still trying to take her hands. She shook him off and got off the bed, standing up.

"I don't know what to do," she said sharply. "I don't know if I want kids, I – "

"I thought you did," he said calmly. "You made us discuss this before we got married, Jen, you were good about it – "

"And I know you want them – but you also said you'd want _me_ and you'd love _me_ even if I decided against it – "

"I stand by that, Jen, but gettin' rid of my baby's a different story!"

"_Fuck_ you, Jethro," she said, jabbing her finger at him. Her eyes flashed viciously. "That's not what I'm talking about – I would never do that to you – I would _never_ - !" her voice caught, and he stood up, swallowing his momentary anger.

He came around the bed and stood in front of her. He hesitated, and then reached for her shoulders, resting his palms there heavily.

"Will you try to understand how I'm feeling?" she asked desperately. "Everything I just told you – how I miss my friends, how I'm trying to find my niche here – I can't handle a baby – and before you say anything, I know I wouldn't be alone, I know you – will be an amazing father, but I don't think – I can't."

"You can if you have to, Jenny," he said calmly. He took a breath and caught her eye. "Breathe a minute, hon," he muttered.

She wiped at her eyes and looked away, taking in a deep breath.

"I wanted to have a conversation – about our opinions of raising kids, about," she paused, and looked back at him. "I _do_ think I want kids with you, Jethro, I'm almost a hundred percent sure but," she paused, licking her lips, "but I wanted to feel that the time was right, here," she pressed her fingers to her heart, "and I – I have this fear that it's in my genes to just … not be good at being a mother."

He arched his brows at her. He gave her a look, and she narrowed her eyes.

"What?" she hissed. "_Don't_ look at me like I'm crazy, Jethro!"

He sat down heavily, pulling her towards him. She stood in front of him, letting him hold her hands, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes red, and he stared at her.

"You think it's in your genes?" he repeated, skeptical.

"I didn't have a mother, Jethro," she said tersely. "I had no example, no – "

"You had a father," he interrupted loudly.

"Dad – "

"He was a _parent_," Gibbs interrupted again. "You think bein' a mother is so drastically different from bein' a father?" he asked, shrugging. "S'not like there's specific things a mother can do that a father can't – 'cept breastfeedin' – "

"Have the baby," she pointed out stubbornly.

"Yeah, think you already know it doesn't take a mother to do that, just workin' parts," he said dully, with a little bit of animosity towards the absent and infamous Kimberly Shepard – and she thought it was sweet, that animosity in defense of his wife. "Look, Jen," he said seriously. "Kids need parents who love 'em, and provide. That's it. Your dad did that."

She licked her lips, gripping him with her fingers. She moved closer, her eyes still burning, but hooked on his words.

"How many times you told me it ain't the sixties?" Gibbs growled. "'Sides the breastfeeding – I don't even know if you wanna do that – name one thing a mom can do that a dad can't, and then tell me why you think you didn't learn everything you need to know from Jasper Shepard."

She stared at him, her mouth open – and again, for the hundredth time, she was floored by how insightful, and how wise, Gibbs could be. He reminded her so much of her father sometimes, when he poked his head out of a cave of gruff stubbornness and puffed up machismo and said something profound.

She bit her lip.

"That's progressive if you, Jethro," she said hoarsely, her shoulders falling.

She turned and sat down next to him, bowing her head. She pulled her hands into her lap and looked up.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "On top of my…insecurities about feeling bored, and useless here, I've been waiting for my period," she shivered, trailing off.

"Well, we're usin' birth control – "

"The fucking pill," she said tensely. "It's not as good – goddamnit," she muttered.

Her IUD had been good for five years, which meant she'd needed to have it removed and replaced back in March or so. She'd instead waited until after the wedding, but then she'd decided not to have another one put in until she got settled at Pendleton and met with her new gynecologist. She thought it would be less of a hassle if there were problems.

"I should have just had Hetty put an IUD back in," she muttered, "nothing would have gone wrong."

"But you've been usin' the pill fine," Gibbs said slowly.

"But it's fuckin unreliable, that's why I didn't use it in the first place!"

"How late are you?" he asked finally. "You got any other symptoms? You haven't been sick."

She opened her mouth quickly, and then she closed it, sitting up a little. She swallowed a couple of times, and thought about it. She lifted her shoulders.

"I'm five days late," she said in a small voice, and then shook her head. "Nothing else really… sticks out."

Her heart fluttered a little, and her stomach felt a little better. Five days was nothing to blow off, but she really didn't have any other symptoms – but maybe she was just really lucky in that department.

"You think it's just stress?" Gibbs ventured.

She looked over at him, and he smiled a little.

"You said you've had a hard time, Jen," he pointed out simply. "Isn't that somethin' that…runs interference?"

She laughed a little.

"It's not a football game, Jethro," she said tiredly.

He reached for her hand, and ran his fingers over her palm.

"You want to buy a test tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "I'll take it with you," he offered supportively.

"Mm-hmm," she murmured dryly, "because if you pee on it, it will definitely be negative, so let's do that."

He snorted, and she sighed, pushing her hair back with her free hand. She licked her lips, and swallowed. She nodded.

"Yeah, tomorrow," she said. She cleared her throat, and squeezed his hand hard. "I wouldn't…Jethro," she looked at him. "I wouldn't get rid of it, even if it was an accident. Not with you," she assured him. "But I am _scared_," she confessed in a raw voice, "and I am _not_ ready."

He turned and put his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"Okay," he said softly. He pressed his lips to her ear, squeezing her tightly for a silent moment. "It's okay," he murmured, and pulled back a little, his forehead against hers. "Things happen sometimes, Jen, you can't always plan it."

"I want to," she said fiercely. "You should want your kids. You should unequivocally _want_ them and you should be _ready_. Or else you," she paused – and then, she didn't finish, and Gibbs knew she was thinking about her mother.

He leaned back and ran his thumb over her mouth, tilting his head. He studied her for a long time.

"I figure," he started slowly, feeling a guilty, "I figure I didn't think about you bein' across the country from everyone, everything," he said frankly.

"I want you to understand, Jethro – I'm not unhappy, I'm really not, I love you – "

"It's like boot camp," he said.

"What?"

"Boot camp," he repeated. "I went to boot camp, and it about kicked my ass," he said bluntly. "I wanted to be there," he said, "but gettin' used to the Marines – they break you down to build you up," he told her. "I had to adjust."

She nodded emphatically, looking relieved.

"I don't feel like I'm a boot camp," she said, arching a brow. "You – got push ups and discipline and I get sex, and too much free time but," she nodded, "the adjustment, the drastic change – _that's_ it."

He was glad he understood, at least – he still wished she hadn't made it so hard leading up to the conversation; Jenny was rarely the type to act like he should just figure out what was wrong with her. He supposed the baby thing was throwing her for a loop, though – she had to have known that was something he'd be thrilled with, regardless, and she must have dreaded admitting she didn't want it yet.

She leaned over and kissed him, lowering her head to his shoulder and resting a moment. He rubbed her back.

"I'll get up early, go get that test," he said warily, not wanting to give her the jitters. "You feel like sleepin'?" he asked. "Watch a movie, or somethin'?"

She took a deep breath, and then straightened up.

"I'm going to shower again," she said. "Wash of…this mess," she gestured – to her make-up, to them; she wanted to think, to sort of be refreshed.

He nodded, and she stood up, hugging herself. She glanced at the bedside table, at a clock.

"Mmm," she murmured. "It's before midnight, still our – five month," she laughed huskily, still a little amused that he'd originally thought she was mad about _that_. "That's about the perfect length of time after a wedding for the first huge fight, I guess."

"Wasn't that huge."

She laughed. He shrugged, and she licked her lips.

"Yeah, well – I hope that's the biggest we ever have," she said in a small, sincere voice.

He gave her a look.

"So, after the shower," he ventured wryly. "First after-big-fight-make-up sex?"

She laughed again.

"That's a hell of a milestone," she mused quietly.

She pushed her hair back, and nodded at him – she'd take her shower, and then she'd be back out, and she'd relax a little, for both of their sake's. She could at least compartmentalize her stress and her frustration for a night and deal with whatever came tomorrow – and he'd be there, because he _understood _now.

He watched her go into the bathroom, and listened to her getting ready for her shower, and he lay back on the bed heavily, closing his eyes – fighting with her took it out of him, but he at least felt a little better knowing why she'd been so off.

* * *

><p>She was sitting on the back porch biting her thumb, nervously basking in the California December sun, when the screen door opened loudly and Gibbs stepped out.<p>

He sat down next to her, bare feet sinking into the grass next to hers, and he nudged her knee with a glass full of whiskey, pressing it into her hands.

"Have a drink," he grunted. "You're not pregnant."

She bowed her head and let out a breath she'd been holding for three minutes—since she'd taken the test and decided she couldn't wait around; she'd asked him to come tell her.

She took the whiskey and downed more than half of it. It hit her like warm, spicy relief, and she broke into a grin, reaching out and placing her hand on Gibbs' thigh. She looked over at him, swallowing hard.

"I hope you aren't too disappointed," she said weakly.

He shrugged, and shook his head.

"Nah," he said honestly. "Would have wanted more warning," he told her bluntly. "But I wouldn't have minded."

She nodded, licking her lips. She finished her whiskey and put the glass down, turning towards him.

"I know you want kids," she said softly. "I want more time – with just us. Holidays, a couple more fights…you and me. Alone."

He looked at her intently, and then nodded very slowly. He hesitated.

"You want 'em, though," he said, trying not to betray how badly he wanted kids – because he _had_ told her he would want to marry her even if she decided no, but he would be so disappointed.

"I'm going to have an IUD put back in, for a couple of years," she told him decisively. "Please just … remember I'm only twenty-three."

She licked her lips and swallowed, addressing his question.

"I," she began anxiously. "I have my doubts, but," she swallowed, and nodded her head firmly. "Yes, I want them. If you're their father. I want them."

He grinned, and leaned over to kiss her, running his hand through her hair. She smiled and snuggled up to him. He laughed and handed her his glass of whiskey, too – she seemed to need it. She flushed and took it.

"I called Pride this mornin'," he said gruffly. "Asked 'im to come over for dinner, bring his wife."

Jenny shifted a little, tilting her head.

"What's her name again?"

She knew Pride – had known him since Gibbs' second deployment – but she hadn't met his wife yet; they'd been married even more recently than she and Gibbs.

"Saydie," Gibbs said. "She's from around here," he said. "Think you'll like 'er."

Jenny smiled – she'd love to meet Saydie Pride; she needed female companionship – she really did need people to see and things to do while she tried to stay awake at the most boring CIA job in the nation.

She licked her lips and sipped her drink, looking up at Gibbs, letting him know silently how much she appreciated him taking what she'd said to heart. He smirked at her.

"It's going to be a good first Christmas," she murmured. She laughed. "It won't be cold, at least."

He nodded and nudged her with his shoulder, clearing his throat gruffly.

"I wouldn't want anyone else," he said.

She pursed her lips lightly, inquiring.

"To have my kids," he elaborated. "I've known plenty of good women, Jen. No one else I'd want to have my kids."

She flushed, and rolled her eyes.

"Sap," she accused loftily – well aware there had been plenty of sappiness going around this morning.

He grinned, and shrugged, laughing.

"Jen," he said firmly, "you may think you aren't gonna be good at it, but you're wrong," he told her confidently. "You're gonna be a good mom. Until you start thinkin' that, you got me to think it for you."

She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and smiled, content to sit on the edge of the porch in the sun and be grateful that she didn't have to face motherhood yet – that in the meantime, her belief in the strength of her relationship with Jethro was reinforced, as it always was, by their ability to fight – maybe it was good of him to compare this to boot camp; maybe the first year of changes and adjustments was marriage boot camp, but at this point, that was just going to prepare them for the better-or-worse years to come – and she planned on re-contracting for every single year.

* * *

><p><span><em>December 14th, 2013<em>

* * *

><p><em>gibbs has all the chill and jenny has no chill<em>

_-alexandra_


End file.
